Target Practice
by JustWhelmed
Summary: Dick Grayson was undercover as Robert "Rob" Adams, a sophomore with a 'rebellious' streak. To outsiders, he seemed oddly keen to befriend science nerd Wally West, but to the Gotham Citizen's Organisation of Secret Intelligence, he was just there to get the information Lex Luthor wanted to kill Wally for before Deathstroke did, and make sure the kid didn't die in the process.
1. Chapter 1

"So, who is it?"

That was the first question, or phrase even, that Dick spoke as he strode into the room. Through his extraordinarily heavily tinted glasses, Dick drew his eyes up to regard his mentor in the centre of the white walled and tech savvy room.

It was everything the stereotype of a secret intelligence agency could ever be and ever live up to, for sake of simplicity. His mentor sported similar glasses as himself, though with a wig to go along with it because his face was in fact more recognisable than Dick's. Everything was so white and bright that Dick was almost glad to have his shades. He wouldn't doubt that he'd be blinded otherwise. A digital screen took up an entire side of the room, and tables upon tables had the state of the art holo-computers propped up on top. But the room was large, and they were rather close to the back. Dick was forced to pass them and their owners stoically typing away at them in his quest for the front.

Near the screen wall at the front was a white podium, and in front of the podium was a white table. Beside the table were twelve white chairs. Dick's mentor, Bruce, was standing beside one of them that was slightly pushed out, in a classy _black _suit. Dick mentally thanked his mentor for that course of action in terms of fashion statements. When Bruce didn't answer, only slightly turned towards him to acknowledge his ward's existence with his eyes remaining fixed to the file in his hands, Dick continued. "Prince? Princess? President? Austrian aristocrat? Child of Chinese embassy?"

"Central City Sophomore," Bruce deadpanned, sticking the file out for Dick to grab. Dick, however, only stared down at the upside down face of a puberty stricken red head instead of immediately receiving it. "A normal, somewhat out casted, pubescent teenager at Central City High School."

Dick stared his mentor in the eyes as well as he possibly could with their identities covered. Eventually, he decided that Bruce, out of all people, wouldn't be pulling a prank. He cautiously took the file from the man. "If he's so normal, why does he have to do with the GCO?"

GCO – part of the Gotham (City) Citizens Organisation of Secret Intelligence. In other words, they were the CIA shrunken down to size, an association of people hell bent on the vigilante game, with their own enemies and their own friends. They, of course, were not complete 'vigilantes', though. They were controlled by a higher power, but what that was, Dick was not permitted to know. Bruce was, but Dick wasn't, and that's just how things were.

Most cities had them those days, but as far as everyone was concerned, they remained underneath the police and government radar. Not under the law, unless it came too much in the way of their ambition, but the police would certainly only complicate things with their differing ideals and MO. Dick was starting to suspect that they were catching onto the fact that there might be a single organisation behind certain events, but as they had no solid evidence and no solid crime, there wasn't much they could do.

One city that did _not _have such an organisation, though, was Central. Central, the happy-go-lucky place of all places, as far as Dick was concerned, at the border of Starling City but left to the hands of Gotham. Apparently, Starling's SPASS (Starling Person's Association of Secret Service) wasn't too concerned with their next door neighbours.

"Nothing but a common enemy"—Bruce's eyes flickered down to his watch—"and a contested gain."

Dick knew that Bruce wasn't going to elaborate his vague answer, so Dick figured that he was going to have to read the entire file.

"Look over all of the information. Memorise everything you deem of importance, including his associations, family, relations, address, and general schedule. Then report to Dinah, and she will brief you," Bruce said. Dick nodded. Without warning, Bruce put another file on top of Dick's hands. "And that's you."

"Me?" Dick asked unnecessarily, staring at a picture of him with his shades, his hair messed up and his shoulders bundled up to chin height in a thick jacket suggesting of the weather around him. He had one arm out, though, as if he couldn't see properly, probably a spur of the moment loss of balance. Dick's eyes caught the words, "—_sensitive sight due to early childhood incident of—"_

"You," Bruce repeated. "Robert Adams, 10th grade."

The only thing that Dick could think of to say was, "I'm never going to pass as driving age," but Bruce was already gone, up through the suction of a technologically advanced elevator.

* * *

><p>Luckily, despite the fact that 10th graders, or Sophomores, were normally around 16 years old, Robert was apparently only 14. He skipped kindergarten and 7th grade. That made more sense.<p>

His birthday was the day after Halloween. He was half blind from a head injury by a horse when he was nine and his remaining eyesight was extremely sensitive to light. He could see enough to get by, but details were hard, meaning he had to sit at the front of the class and he couldn't take off his glasses – even indoors.

Robert strived to become a video game designer (that was _asterous_) and was great at language arts. He was mediocre at math (no math club? Fine then, Bruce, be that way) and terrible at history, but was above all best at science (what?).

Things started fitting together more after the red head's file touched the light.

Wallace Rudolph West. Son of Rudolph West, single father, and nephew to Iris West and Barry Allen. He lived on Front Street, shown on a marked map with the school's location highlighted, and was enrolled in track as a sport. Ironically, though, he spent all possible time that he could locked up in his room playing video games – yet somehow managing to get himself in trouble.

According to the file, Wallace was a target of Lex Corp. It was the GCO's suspicions that he had information. Important information. Very important information, for the sole reason that Wallace was brought to the GCO's attention after his attempted assassination, a mall shooting that happened in Gotham City a month before. Culprits arrested, but were calm, arousing suspicion, especially when they seemed to have specifically targeted teenagers - as revealed by recordings. Even more specifically? Wallace as he ducked and ran from the scene.

The biggest suspicion raiser? The Lex Corp badge printed on the inside of their shirts. Though the shooters said nothing, their careless behaviour of evidence led to enough reason for the GCO to look into the teenager more.

They had a common enemy with him, after all.

It was revealed that Wallace Rudolph West was being _hunted_ by Lex Corp – very likely for information, as first hypothesised. Therefore, it was also revealed that it was not only Dick's job to protect the teenager, but it would also become his job to extract said information out of his own target.

In other words, Dick would need to protect and _use _the boy.

He was fine with it, honestly. In the end, it would prevent Wallace from getting killed. Dick would do practically any job - anything he was assigned. The job he was reading on at the moment fell under the category of what he would do. Really, the one job he would never do was kill. Dick Grayson was no killer.

But he _was _a damn good secret agent.

To find the matches in Dick's own personal data with Wallace's, there was no hide and seek required. The personality was harder to find, considering Robert's file had a suspicious lack of personality information, but Wallace's file was completely full. Wallace was a huge gamer. Robert wanted to be a video game designer. Robert was fantastic at language arts. Wallace was failing and desperately needed a tutor - even with the after school library sessions he was apparently receiving. They both were alright with math, but Wallace was a flat out _genius _in science.

Technology involved science. Dick could do technology, at least.

Robert was also attending an Honours Chemistry class.

Nevermind, Dick was screwed.

He was walking out a sound proof, bulletproof, somewhat cramped room as he ran over every basic piece of information he could possibly need for the day. Said room was the lair of Dinah Lance, the Head of Operations and field missions for the GCO. While Bruce was also a large help in such an area, unlike Lance, he never went out himself due to his identity. Thus, he was mainly in charge of the information.

Honestly, Dick was completely fine with that. Bruce may be infinitely clever and cautious, but he was perhaps too cautious, bordering on paranoia. He never acted without questioning, making giving him orders near impossible. He was also highly recognisable by _everyone. _No, it was Dinah Lance who had given Dick his mission, and it was Dinah Lance who was supposed to pose as Sara Adams, Robert's mother.

That was fine with him, too. She sure was a lot nicer than Bruce.

When Dick reached the main room where he had been talking to Bruce hours earlier, as instructed by Lance, he was approached by a man in a white lab coat. With gloves, likely to mask his fingerprints, he presented Dick with sunglasses similar to the ones Dick already wore - only their design was a bit different.

Their design was less fashionable - more bulky and practical. Their lenses were thicker instead of simply darker, and on the side was printed in white text, '_dark light for sensitive eyes_'. On the other arm of the glasses, also in white text, was the phone number to the supposed eye doctor that Dick had gone to (Robert's file said Dr. David Grey). There was a thin chain connecting the ends of the two arms.

He accepted the sunglasses with a smile and a nod to the man, who barely acknowledged Dick before turning around and walking off. Instead of focusing on him, Dick directed his own attention elsewhere, taking off his sunglasses and placing them on the podium before replacing them with his new ones.

Well, they felt super awkward, if that was worth anything. Dick already missed his old sunglasses. They were light and smooth and fit his face so well he knew they were never going to slip off. His new glasses needed a chain to slip around the back of his head and under his hair to make sure they didn't come off. It was a fast demotion, that was for sure.

"Are they any good?" Bruce's voice spoke from behind Dick.

Dick turned around to face him. "They're terrible," he responded bluntly. "But I'll manage."

Bruce's face didn't so much as twitch in amusement. Dick knew that the moment those glasses were off of Bruce's face, Bruce would return to being the charismatic playboy that he supposedly was, but as long as they were on, Bruce was on 'business'. It was no surprise that when Dick first met his mentor, he was wholly convinced that the man suffered from multi-personalities. "Robert's father left when he was 12," Bruce said instead. "Since then, he's become somewhat rebellious, refusing to be anything his mother wants him to be. His mother is a very faithful Catholic woman who groomed her son to be kind and proper. Therefore, Robert changed his appearance a little bit."

Dick stared at Bruce. "You can't be serious-"

"Robert is a nice boy, but only to people he knows and likes. To his mother, he refuses to go to Church, has taken on being atheist, and wears clothes his mother disapproves of. He acts snarky and rude and mannerless, and enjoys playing pranks to all extents possible." Bruce finally produced a small red tube from his pocket. Dick stared at the label as he was given the tube. "The tips of his hair are coloured red as a statement."

"You're joking," Dick deadpanned.

Bruce picked up another file from the podium, one that Dick hadn't bothered to look for. "I was wondering if you would realise that Robert didn't have a personality."

Dick knew with a sinking heart that he had. Bruce handed him the file, the missing piece of the one that Dick had received earlier. "Alfred is in the dressing room. He's supposed to 'fix' your appearance a bit more."

"How am I going to go to school?" Dick protested weakly. "My actual school, in Gotham?"

"You have pneumonia," Bruce responded simply.

And that was that. Bruce patted him on the shoulder without another word and left, leaving Dick standing in the middle of a painfully white room, a tube the colour of blood in one hand and a small stack of papers in the other.

* * *

><p><strong>I am so screwed. <strong>**_What am I doing to myself._**

**I'm starting a multi-chapter fic, that's what I'm doing to myself.**

**I'm already writing a multi-chapter fic that I kind of wish would burn in a hole. This is probably going to be the same. But the idea was eating me alive-**

**How do people finish multi-chapters, anyway?**

**Someone help.**

**In other words, please let me know if you liked this, or else I might just shoot myself for getting myself into a gamble that no one even likes.**

**On another note, though, for the Americans out there: Happy Thanksgiving, and I hope you enjoyed both this and your food!**


	2. Chapter 2

"Oh, hello! What's your name?"

"Robert."

"Robert? I've never seen you around, Robert. Are you new?"

"Kind of. I didn't move very far."

"Really? Where did you live before?"

"Starling."

"Huh, that really wasn't that far. Just a train ride away. Why'd you move, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Nah, I don't mind. My mom just had a better job here is all."

Dinah Lance looked over at Dick with a smile. "Good," she praised. "You're a natural."

"Thanks, _mom_," Dick responded, exaggerating her title to gain a chuckle. He glanced out of his window, his shades a grateful item as the sun glared through the glass. To say that Dick wasn't very used to cars without tints would be a truth - however, Robert was so average that he'd never even been in a limo, meaning that Dick never had either.

"You're welcome, _son," _Dinah responded accordingly. "I'm sure you know where the main office is?" she winked when Dick cast her a deadpan look. "It doesn't matter, though. Remember, Robert, you're a new kid on his first day of school. He needs his mommy to drag him into the principal's office."

Dick groaned as Dinah stepped out of the car. Sadly, even he couldn't stop the smile forming on his face.

"By the way," Dinah said as she dropped her own smile stepping out of the vehicle, simultaneously stepping into the skin of a certain Sara Adams. "You look like a delinquent."

Dick cringed. Right.

After Dick had shaken himself out of his frozen state in the Meeting Room, the centre of operations where Dick had spoken with his mentor, he proceeded to the Dressing Room. It was, though, on the other side of the underground building maze, and getting there required walking in silence and more time to think for himself.

Naturally, with all the information that Dick had to digest, he did not want such thinking time.

When Dick finally reached the double doors that had all the make up, costumes, designs, and disguises ever thought up locked away behind them, he had positively convinced himself that it was all just an April Fool's joke.

An April Fool's joke in autumn. But who cared about seasons, anyway?

Unfortunately, as Dick cautiously pushed at the doors and they parted around him, he was presented with his new attire dangling from a clothes hanger in one of his butler's hands. In the other hand was an opaque blue bowl with a handle.

"Do you need help getting dressed, Master Robert?" Alfred said kindly.

Dick had said no. Turns out, it was sort of needed, as he'd never attempted getting into skinny jeans and skinny shirts before. He had gotten into skintight spandex before, but jeans were an entirely different category. Completely different category.

And what was the point? They were ripped anyway!

"I think this is taking it overboard," Dick said half an hour later while he was looking up at the ceiling. His head was resting against a sink, one that reminded Dick of a hair salon.

"I think you might just be right," Alfred responded, but he didn't stop.

Two hours later, Dick was standing in front of a body mirror, hair towel dried and mussed up and _tipped red. _He wanted to hate it, couldn't help but admit it looked good, and glowered at the fact that in order to get the red he was forced to dye the tips of his hair a very pale blonde first. Dick and blonde didn't work.

Aside from his hair, Dick was wearing a used black hoodie with the strings frayed, red fingerless gloves ripped towards the bottom that hugged and went past his wrist, black skinny jeans that had a tear going from mid thigh and slightly past his knee on one foot and not on the other with a chain as a belt, a black band T-shirt with dripping red lettering that he didn't recognise, and black worn sneakers. "You know," he said absentmindedly. "It's not _too _goth. It's kind of...stylish?"

"I refused to let you walk out looking like a hoodlum," Alfred responded simply, presenting Dick with a hair dryer.

Dick hardly recognised himself with his hair blow dried like Alfred had. Usually it was only pulled back, but Alfred had somehow made it so that his hair was _fluffy _and pulled more towards the side and front, his bangs brushed over one glassed eye. "Isn't this just...emo?"

"Are you depressed?" Alfred asked.

"No? Maybe Robert's a bit troubled, but not...depressed."

"Then it isn't 'emo'."

Dick didn't know the difference at all. Not many spoiled rich kids that he knew decided to take the time to look as dark as possible.

His biggest problem was the new trouble that he was having sitting down. "My pants keep slipping off," Dick complained. "They're the least comfortable pants I've ever been in. What's the point in this chain? Belt? Chain-belt? Someone could easily take it off me and choke me with it. Are you trying to get me killed?"

Alfred chuckled. "Could you please come over here for a moment, Master Robert?" he said instead. With a theatrical groan, Dick walked over to the side where Alfred indicated, out of the view of the mirror. "Turn around." Dick complied, turning so that his back faced his butler.

Alfred rummaged around on a table behind him, and Dick began blowing on his bangs for fun to watch them bounce. They were practically like feathers. Finally, Alfred paused and Dick felt something against his ear. "Alfred, what are you-"

WHOOSH.

Dick yelped _loud, _before groaning and clutching his ear. "What the-" he exclaimed, trying to shuffle away from Alfred. Alfred only smacked his hands away from his ear and pressed the sanitising cloth against it. Dick whined protestingly, his ear _burning _with a pain he had never felt in an ear before.

And, of course, Alfred just _had _to shove an object in it. Into it. In the ear's flesh itself.

"Did you just-"

"You can't take this off for a month," Alfred interrupted.

"Did you really-"

"You can, however, pick from a variety of different earrings. Most of them are beads, as I figured you wouldn't appreciate diamonds."

Dick only moaned and clutched his very red ear. "Why did you do only _one-"_

"It seems to be a fashion statement these days."

"Is private school seriously that secluded from the world? Because I swear to-"

Alfred smiled. "Trust me, Master Robert. This particular public school is rather different from what you're used to."

Dick, standing in front of his new temporary school, swore that he could still feel his ear throbbing. It probably was, though Dinah insisted that the red had gone down. It had already been a week since the 'makeover.' It had mostly been to show Dick how he was going to go to school, and it was exactly how he was about to go to school, save for the fact that he wasn't nearly as skilled with a blow drier and his hair was more messy than fluffy.

After Alfred's 'interference', Dick had gone to walk around alone in the city. He had met a girl in the park and ended up going to the movies with her, as well as generally hanging out, for the past week. Bruce had insisted that it would be so he wasn't totally unexpected and unrecognised in the area.

Dick mostly thought that the reason he and the girl had hit it off was because she was pretty goth as well.

"Only for you, mother-dear," Dick quipped back rudely. He was already reprimanding himself for having to act that way towards nice, kind, sincerely could-kick-his-ass Dinah. Dinah glared at him in response and began stiffly striding towards the school.

Dick felt really, really bad. It went against everything he was raised with. He already hated being 'Robert'.

He was severely lagging behind by the time Dinah had reached the gold and red coloured doors. There was a large cheetah painted on the brick wall above, and he regarded the painting of it underneath the words CENTRAL CITY HIGH SCHOOL with disdain.

Dinah let the doors swing back into Dick's face.

A minute later, the both of them entered the main office with Dick clutching his nose.

"Hello," Dinah said kindly as she walked up to the desk, just the perfect amount strained and the perfect amount polite for a mother with a son that she probably wished would drown in holy water. "I'm here to transfer Robert Adams for his first day of school?"

The secretary looked up boredly, not at all taken by Dick's 'mother's' smile. She hummed in acknowledgement, swivelling her chair lazily to begin typing on another computer screen by her side. "Mr. Newell isn't here right now, but I can give you Robert's schedule and leave him a note." Without waiting for an answer, the printer behind the woman kick started, and she sluggishly got up from her chair to retrieve it. Dick's fingers almost twitched in annoyance for her pace - but then again, he was truly a bundle of nerves. "Here you are," the woman said, presenting Dinah with a sheet of paper. Dinah gave the paper to Dick.

Only half of the paper was printed on in an incredibly small font. At the top was his locker number and locker combination, and the rest of the space, other than for information about Robert that he already knew, was filled with his schedule for both of the year's semesters. Dick absentmindedly followed Dinah out of the office, remembering that he wasn't supposed to thank the secretary.

The second the door closed behind him, he glanced up to see Dinah glaring heatedly down at him. She jabbed a finger into his chest. "Remember, Robert," she hissed. "You better not screw it up with everyone here. Maybe _try _to get the teacher's to like you and they might _try _to give you good grades."

Dick rolled his eyes as, with a final glare, Dinah stalked off.

"Great, another emo," a voice muttered, and Dick glanced beside him irritably to see a boy much taller than him in sports attire grab a basketball from his locker. The boy glanced at him scornfully. Dick attempted to match his attitude. "Weirdo," he snorted, dribbling the basketball lazily on the ground before hugging it with one arm and walking across the hall. He disappeared into a hallway around the corner of the main office, where Dick could see at the end of it, when he peered, double doors marked with the words GYMNASIUM.

Yup, Dick already hated Robert.

* * *

><p><strong>Decided to get something done (that isn't my homework, which I definitely did, psh) before I went to work. Because after these few precious hours, I'm going to be working for three weeks straight without breaks, alternating between show production and 'marketing' and you name it.<strong>

**I might, though, be able to snag a few hours in the library between shifts per week, so hopefully I can get something out by then.**

**I hope that you enjoyed, and I can't wait to hear from you guys!**

**(Speaking of which, does anyone know what's up with those random spam reviews that seem to be on a lot of stories? Or maybe it's just the ones I'm posting recently. Three reviews that take up much more than just the immediate screen. It's horribly annoying). **


	3. Chapter 3

Dick was not expecting so many people.

At all.

He knew that public schools had more people than private schools - far more people. Just how many, however, were drastically put into perspective from having been only numbers to being a reality as Dick stood in the middle of a main hallway when the bell rang.

Oh God, they were like a _disease. _

Luckily, Dick had been standing there to begin with because he was looking for his locker. He had found it and was trying out his combination when the students began flooding into the hallway for their next class, and Dick managed to yank open the door and actually look like he was doing something just in time.

He yanked his schedule out from his back pocket and looked at it with a sigh, leaning into his locker space to avoid having students trip over him.

Five minutes later, Dick had awkwardly managed to get his extra materials into his locker and was clutching the handle of his binder tightly in one hand, staring at his schedule with the other. It wasn't that he was trying not to be lost, though. Bruce had actually banned Dick from obsessively checking over every possible route existing in the school beforehand so that Dick would appear exactly as he was appearing at that moment - the lost, somewhat troubled new student.

It really just made Dick feel helpless, but Bruce didn't see it that way, and whatever Bruce said was what went. Dick honestly hated that rule.

He was standing in front of a classroom as the halls were almost done dispersing, double checking that the number beside the door matched that of the one on his paper. Finding that it did, he was about to open the door when someone began running up the hall.

"Hey, you!" the teenager called, stopping beside Dick and sucking in a deep breath. "Uh, is this…"-the teenager paused in order to dig out a piece of paper similar to Dick's from his back pocket-"Fredericks?"

Dick's eyes darted to his paper in order to check, shaking his head. "Nope, this is...," he squinted, "Thomas Baginski?" The boy cursed and turned around to leave, muttering something about false directions as he did so. Right as he was about to turn a corner, though, Dick realised his mistake. "Wait!" he called, causing the teenager to stop. "Yeah, this is Fredericks," he corrected. "I read the wrong line."

The boy laughed as he jogged back up to where Dick was. "That's okay, little man," he commented. "I don't blame you. They print it insanely small to save ink or something."

Dick smiled amiably, ignoring the jab at his size. "Are you new, too?" he asked.

The teenager shook his head. "Nope. It's the beginning of the second semester, so some of my classes switch around. Why'd you come here in the middle of the year?"

Dick shrugged. "Job," he said curtly, and the other boy nodded in understanding.

"I get it," he responded, finally turning to open the door. "Well, shall we?"

When Dick walked in, the people already seated glanced up. It seemed to be about the time that the students were beginning to quiet down for class, and Dick mentally wished that he had walked in at least a minute earlier, when there would have been enough noise for him to slip by relatively unnoticed.

The boy from the hallway walked past Dick towards an empty seat near the front, and Dick let his eyes silently scan the room until he found another empty seat near a window in the back. He decided that no one else was going to take that spot and awkwardly attempted skirting the perimetre of the room with at least half of the class' eyes momentarily on him. Dick sat down slowly, reluctant to make any sort of noise that could drive more attention onto himself.

The teacher, a stout man with a surprisingly soft gaze, stood up from his desk. Before leaning over to turn on the projector, though, his eyes stopped on Dick. "You," he said, pointing at Dick. Dick straightened up in his seat.

"Yes?" Dick answered.

"What's your name?"

"Robert," he replied. He felt strange, his tongue heavy with the unfamiliar name - tangible like thick saliva. He actually braced himself for the teasing that his name would usually grant before realising that, technically, Dick wasn't his name anymore.

"Well, Robert, I hate to tell you, but shades aren't allowed in class," the teacher warned, though not rudely in any way. It was more as if he were enforcing rules that he could care less about, and apologising for the fact that said rules were written in the first place. "We need to make sure you are who you say you are."

That was the problem. He wasn't who he said he was. Dick forced his mouth to form a sheepish line, reminding himself that his eyes weren't visible. "Uh, I can't," he said awkwardly. The entire class gradually stilled and turned to him. So much for slipping by unnoticed.

"You can't?" the teacher repeated, bemused.

Dick tapped the side of his glasses, where Robert's eye doctor's phone number was printed. "I have a...condition. I need them to see."

Mr. Fredericks blinked, taken aback by the unexpected response, before shrugging. "Fine by me. Some of the other teachers aren't so lenient, though, so you may have to explain it a bit more later."

Dick nodded, just grateful that he was let off the hook so easily for the time being. He scanned the classroom as the teacher turned on the projector and began shuffling around the papers on his desk, causing the students to erupt into chatter again.

Dick took that moment to look around him, feigning innocence as a bewildered new student. However, the first thing that struck him was that the room was blatantly a math classroom - a fact entirely useless, considering he already knew that he would be having math first period. It was Algebra 2, according to Robert's file. Dick sighed. He took Algebra 2 last year, in 8th grade. That really put things into perspective, though, considering Algebra 2 in 10th grade was considered smart.

"What kind of condition?" a voice drifted into Dick's ears. He turned his face back from gazing blankly at the board to the blonde girl sitting in front of him, her eyes intense with curiousity.

Dick almost felt bad for lying to her. "I'm kind of blind, and my eyes are super sensitive to light."

The girl frowned. "Why not just wear prescription glasses, then?"

"I got hit in the head," Dick elaborated. "My eyes don't dilate really well anymore."

The blonde's own eyes widened. "Oh, that sucks," she responded. "So you have to wear those all the time, even inside?"

"Unless it's dark," Dick added, "but pretty much."

"Wow," the girl muttered, blinking in surprise. "Sorry to hear that. I'm Amanda, by the way," the girl greeted.

"Robert," Dick said in turn, "but you probably already knew that."

The girl nodded with a curt smile. "Yup. Nice to meet you," she said, before turning back around to talk to the person in front of her. Dick only stared blankly at the back of her head, jotting in the back of his mind every dark blonde streak of hair among her lighter strands, but surfacely noticing only how Amanda would forever associate Dick as Robert.

He had never thought about it that way with the people he had met within the other identities that he had taken on. He figured it was because Amanda was roughly his age. Before, he was usually pretending to be the child or someone or another. The people he had to go undercover on were older. But really, Dick should have expected an undercover schoolboy mission to come up one day. It wasn't as if the organisation had many, if any others at all, teenage agents.

"Start passing your homework to the front of the room," Mr. Fredericks said as he adjusted his swivel chair and put a piece of paper underneath the projector. He began writing in red pen. _Homework: pg. 112 #1-23, 26, 35-55odd, 67._

Dick stared at his desktop for a few moments, contemplating his thoughts, before raising his head slowly to consider what was being written.

Well, Dick had done absolutely none of that homework. The boy from the hallway had mentioned students switching classes due to the semester change, so the teacher was probably planning on explaining the situation to the class. There was likely not that many changes. That, or, Dick realised, the math curriculum was required to be the same for all classes of the same level, as it was at his own school.

In other words, Dick would have to go up there himself and explain that he was a new student. He was thoroughly shocked, surprised at himself as he stood up and only managed to move halfway from his chair by the time he realised the difference. The difference from that second and the second before.

He didn't want to talk to his teacher.

No, anyone. He didn't want to talk to anyone. His very soul yearned to simply sit down and not talk, not draw attention to himself, because what if he slipped?

But no, that couldn't be it. He knew he wouldn't slip. He never did.

The environment was just so similar. Apart from the general public and private school differences, it was all so similar to his life as Richard Grayson. _Too _similar. But the one thing that Dick couldn't do as Robert and could as Richard? He couldn't be himself. It was as if Dick were living his life, but as someone else. All of his other missions made him feel the rush of adrenaline that went with being undercover for something important. What was he undercover as and for? He was undercover as a mid-delinquent high school student to protect another high school student. A passive aggressive mission.

And when would it end? There was no set due date. There wasn't even a _goal. _Only, "don't let him die."

Well, if it lasted for long enough, Wallace may not die but Dick would make sure he was at least six feet underground.

With a deep breath, Dick rose, his fingers automatically reaching up to fiddle with the awkward, single earring at the top of his right ear. His eyes darted to the desk up at front, as if that desk were his goal and not the teacher behind it.

However, he wasn't so distracted that he didn't notice the second he went off balance. He was too trained for that.

Dick immediately reached out to steady himself, and it worked. He didn't trip. In fact, apart from a slight stumble, it didn't look as if anything had happened at all. But there was one main evidence of the incident, the evidence in the form of books and papers suddenly scattered on the floor.

Dick stared at the empty desk, too lost in his anxious thoughts from before to properly react to the fact that he had just rudely swept a student's belongings off of their desk.

Someone whistled behind Dick.

"Woah, new emo kid out to make his reputation already, way to go!" There was a bout of laughter, and Dick spun around to stare blankly at the brunette boy seated behind him encouraging the louder students of the class.

"Just keep picking on the nerds, 'kay? You'll fit right in," said another voice.

"Totally. With the other cutters."

What? No, Dick wasn't a bully, what were they talking about?

"Thanks," someone muttered bitterly, and Dick stepped back to regard the boy behind the desk that he had accidentally swept everything off of. "You actually seemed pretty cool, too." Dick got the impression that he wasn't supposed to hear what was said, but he couldn't tear his eyes away. It was the boy from the hall, and Dick wanted to apologise, but he found his mouth glued shut. It was as if the voice that he could have had was already drowned out by the voices around him. What was he supposed to say? Was Robert an angry sort of person, bitter by what went on at home? If that were the case, how was he ever supposed to amend relations with the sitting boy? Should Robert care? Would he just leave it be? No, the file said that Robert was generally nice to kids his age.

He felt so out of place. Not a single person that Dick could recognise, and he couldn't even claim to know 'himself' better than the person who _wrote_ 'him' into existence. He had made a semi-friend, one that he had already antagonised, and when he finally sat back down in his seat at the very back, obedient to the teacher's disapproving orders, there was one thing nagging at the corner of Dick's mind.

That redhead looked awfully familiar.

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><p><strong>AN: I actually could have posted this a long time ago. Long time ago. But I decided that it was too depressing. I really want this fic to be a light hearted one. I really do. It's tearing me apart, but I didn't know how I could get around this situation, so I took out a chunk of the chapter and promise that things will lighten up.**

**Thank you so much for the wait and the reviews! They completely made my day, and despite my little dilemma with this chapter, I couldn't help but smile.**

**See you next chapter, my wonderful birdies!**


	4. Chapter 4

Dick marched into headquarters (he tried to march, but the chain on his belt kept hitting the buckle and it was ringing and being so annoying, Dick didn't know how anyone could ever stand it-) and upon entering, immediately saw Bruce.

"How was school?" Bruce said conversationally, his eyes not straying at all from the computer screen in front of him. Dick opened his mouth, ready to protest about his ridiculous excuse of a mission, but faltered.

"Good," he said instead, swallowing his real opinion. "Public school is okay."

"That's good," Bruce said. "Because you're supposed to still be there."

Dick frowned. "What are you talking about-"

"Homework club," he interrupted.

"Homework club? Robert's grades are fine, he doesn't need help," protested Dick.

"Actually, I think his math grades are the lowest. His mother wants him to bring them up," Bruce dismissed offhandedly.

"And since when did he ever do what his mother wanted?"

"Since they opened up student tutoring, a friend he's been wanting to make needs help with English, and it would look good on his resume," deadpanned the man.

"Fake resume," Dick muttered, but he obeyed anyway. After all, what else was he good for? He still had a request, though, and he wasn't going to let off it until he got it. "By the way, Robert's been thinking about getting some more leather clothes lately. He's just been waiting until his mother turns around so that he can go get them himself."

Bruce paused, frowning, and glanced at him. "What?"

"Dick agrees, because the leather is stiff and thick enough to hide pockets on the inside without their contents creating noticeable wrinkles in the material."

There was silence from Bruce for a moment, before he waved his hand. "What do I care what Robert does? Robert isn't my son."

Dick grinned.

An hour later and Dick was walking out of headquarters with a new leather jacket and his gadgets all snug up against his body. He could say that he had sincerely missed them. If he were telling the truth, Dick would say that he felt vulnerable without them. Even as Richard, he had his utility belt with everything he could need should he find himself in a tough situation hidden inside of his jacket. But apparently, the mission was more important than that, because Dick had been forced to spend the entire day without his much needed gadgets. Honestly, that was more unnerving than any amount of taunting by any number of airheaded bullies. However, as he was about to open the doors that led into the underground subway station and, finally, the surface, Alfred's voice stopped him. "Master Robert," he said. "Do remember not to antagonise your friends this time. It makes for an unpleasant high school experience."

Dick should have known that they had been monitoring his progress. Really. What was a secret agent without hidden planted microphones?

It took ten more minutes for Dick to wander his way into Central High's library. He figured that was where he was supposed to be, if the "HOMEWORK CLUB: 2:30-4:30. STUDENT TUTORS APPRECIATED" sign was anything to go by. Seeing that, however, and pushing open the doors to reveal a room packed with noisy teenagers, Dick didn't know whether to feel humoured or disappointed.

"Are you here for homework club?" a plump blonde lady seated behind a seriously and painfully outdated computer monitor asked. Dick couldn't decide whether it was the stereotypes of his appearance or the fact that everyone in the library was probably there for homework club that led the woman to ask. "If so, please sign in here," she requested, gesturing to a clipboard on the library check out counter.

"Actually," Dick said, forcing himself to be hesitant and unsure as he walked over to the counter. He darted his eyes nervously, taking in the surroundings of the woman in his act of simply being overwhelmed, and twitched his lips into a smile. "-Nevermind, yeah, I'm here for homework club."

Well, that wasn't suspicious at all. But despite what Bruce had said, with so many teenagers in the room, if Dick had simply requested to be a tutor then he might not have made it to Wally by the time the day was over. Bruce probably wasn't counting on the number of students attending the club. It was better if Dick just offered his help personally to Wally, rather than walk up to him and have to explain how he knew Wally was failing English.

The woman looked at him oddly as Dick quickly scribbled 3:02PM in the time slot of the sign in sheet along with his signature (he had to make one up on the spot. Robert Adams signing in as Richard Grayson was probably not the best way to go on an undercover mission). He ignored it, though (it really wasn't all that hard) as he adjusted his backpacks weight on his shoulders and stepped back from the counter a bit, scanning the room for a certain mop of red hair.

That wasn't hard to locate, either. He was sitting in the furthest corner of the room, at the back of the section dedicated to horrendously outdated computers. Steeling himself, he walked towards Wally, keeping his eyes on his worn sneakers, and made sure to slowly pass his screen. A dart of the eyes revealed Wally to be working on a document labelled 'LAB RESEARCH PROJ.'. Dick sat down where there was only one computer between him and his target.

He pretended to ignore Wally's eyes as he focused on logging into his computer. Luckily, he had spent the day before his first day of school memorising the log-in codes to pretty much every site he would need to use for school, and getting into the computer was effortless. Dick could see Wally's scowl from the corner of his eye, and he pretended to pause and turn to look at Wally curiously.

"Hi," he said with an awkward wave of his hand.

Wally frowned and turned back to his computer.

"Look…," he started with a deep breath. "About earlier, I… I didn't mean to do that. At all. It was an accident."

"Yeah, whatever," Wally muttered. "You're no better than the rest of them."

Dick paused, trying to formulate a response. "Well, my taste in music sure is better, if their going-to-be-deaf-before-20 playlist blasting out of their earbuds is anything to go by," Dick said with a shrug. "And my grades, probably. And my voice - their voices are pretty annoying. But maybe that's because they only use their voices to be annoying."

Wally cracked a smile at that while Dick full out grinned. At least he had gotten a positive reaction. There was silence for a moment as Wally contemplated whether or not to encourage the conversation, but one distasteful look at his screen and the grasps of procrastination later, he decided. "Taste in music? Let me guess, Asking Alexandria? Bring Me The Horizon?"

"Queen? Muse? Smashing Pumpkins? The Killers?" Dick supplied. "Beatles?"

"You like the Beatles?" Wally asked skeptically. "I thought you'd be more into screamo or something."

Dick snickered. "I could tell."

Wally's ears turned red.

"I'm fine with screamo," Dick said. "But honestly, I like the older bands better. The ones who are like the 'base' of the bands today. The 80's guys."

"Hmm," Wally hummed thoughtfully, eyes looking more enthusiastic than before. "Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, Billy Joel?"

"Favourites of them would be Numb, Immigrant, and this song that had to do with not fitting in with current fashion - totally forgot the name, though." Not that Dick didn't like those singers, though those were his favourite songs of them, he mostly preferred movie soundtracks. Or Lindsey Stirling. And Pentatonix. But Wally was asking Robert for his preferences - he wasn't asking Dick.

Wally grinned. "You're not as bad as I thought."

"Really? And how bad did you think I'd be?" Dick asked, invested.

"Uhh," the plump of Wally's cheeks slowly began to flush. "An asshole to everyone, pretty much. Stuck up in your own petty problems."

"Aw, man, stereotypes are so not cool," Dick protested.

Wally threw up his hands. "Finally! Someone! Like just because I enjoy science doesn't mean I'm antisocial. What does antisocial have to do with science, anyway?"

"What does wearing black and red have to do with being an asshole?" Dick asked in turn. "No idea. We've all got a bit of stupid in us."

Wally laughed and agreed. His attention returned briefly to his computer, before he frowned again. "What did you say your name was?"

"Robert."

"And I'm Wally. Robert, you're in my Chemistry class, right?"

"Right," Dick responded.

"You know that worksheet Tetu gave us for the new project? Do we have to answer the questions in paragraphs or can we do bullet points?"

"Paragraphs. He told some kid next to me that he's also an English major and can't stand it when kids don't use proper sentences," said Dick. Wally groaned, and the agent gave him a sympathetic smile.

"That blows."

"How come?" Dick asked innocently. Of course, he knew why, but Wally didn't know that he knew, so he had to pretend that he didn't know, which was frustrating.

"No reason," Wally spoke up quickly. Defensively. Even if Dick hadn't read an entire report on the guy, he would be fast in seeing that Wally wasn't too great on the subject.

Dick shrugged. "Okay, then," he said, seemingly dropping the subject. However, when the mouse was a bit too far away from Dick's computer and the agent moved to pull it back, his arm only bumped the screen by accident. Definitely by accident. It was just tilted enough so that Wally would be able to see the contents of the screen when he glanced over, and Dick quickly surfed through his school account's Google drive to find the project.

Dick pulled the document up, he was relieved to see that content had already been typed onto the screen. The corner of the page revealed an 'L' in a red block, and Dick was right to assume that Miss. Lance had heard of the project and was giving Dick a head start. He quickly typed 'I'm here' at the bottom of the unfinished project and within seconds, Lance had signed off. Dick deleted his message and her email from the document so that it never looked as if it had been shared.

Dick had to give it to the woman, she definitely knew his level of writing. If he didn't know better, Dick would have thought that he had done the entire thing himself. It was a good thing that Dick was actually good at English, too, considering that it wasn't his first language and he had had to study it in more detail than most average American students in order to get up to level. Dinah had probably surfed through Dick's past research reports at Gotham Academy and copied his style.

Dick didn't know whether to be alarmed or reassured that Dinah could fake his 'voice'. Probably alarmed.

Taking a moment of breath to arrange the thoughts in his head, Dick decided to actually focus on the assignment. What else was he going to do? Pestering someone he just met would only result in them not wanting to talk to him anymore.

Luckily, Dick didn't actually have to type more than a sentence before he caught Wally's attention.

"Dude," Wally hissed. The library had begun to quiet down in their corner, and Dick could just spot the blonde bun of the short librarian peering into people's screens over his computer. "Is that your paper?"

Dick nodded and tilted his head in question instead of speaking verbally. Wally's eyes widened, then his shoulders slumped and he dejectedly turned his own screen towards Dick. While Dick's page was split into neat, even paragraphs, Wally's paper was littered with bullet points, half finished sentences, and paragraphs dramatically differing in size. For a research pre-write, that was great. For a formal written project? Not so much.

Dick cringed sympathetically. Wally collapsed in his seat. "I totally rock at science," he muttered. "But I don't rock so much at English. Why does he gotta be an English major? Really? That's not fair."

Dick quickly glanced at his own screen to compare work before taking it upon himself to drag his computer chair to Wally's monitor. "Are you any good at lab reports?"

"Data table? Procedures? Yeah," Wally huffed. "Anything that involves a paragraph? No."

The lab report they did in class was at the top of Wally's page - thankfully a lab report that Dick could understand. To Dick's observation skills, the unit was reviewing Biology. The longer that he could postpone being ridiculously lost in Chemistry, the better. Dick tentatively reached out of the mouse, which Wally allowed, and began to scroll past it. There was the conclusion, a conclusion that Dick wouldn't have recognised as one other than the fact that it was classically positioned after the table. There were questions afterwards to be answered, the part that Dinah had started to complete, which were messily spaced in half hearted notes.

"So, your conclusion definitely needs work," Dick said light-heartedly. Wally loudly groaned, drawing the librarian's amused eyes. He read it through and snorted. "A lot of work."

"Come on, don't laugh," protested the red head, turning his computer screen awkwardly away from Dick. Dick tilted it back.

"No, the facts are good, the organisation isn't. And it's like, what, six sentences? I'm sure you can do better than that, man," said Dick hurriedly.

"Like how?"

"Well, first off," Dick highlighted and erased the last two sentences. "That's a crappy excuse for detail that isn't supposed to be there to begin with. Just write the basics for the first paragraph."

"First paragraph?" Wally questioned. "I thought there was only supposed to be one paragraph?"

"Wow, you must have had a shitty teacher as a freshman," Dick laughed. Wally rolled his eyes but was quick to agree.

"Yeah," Wally snorted. "She was pretty bad."

"I bet. Anyway, do you remember the super basic, middle school plot for conclusions? Like, answer the hypothesis, high and low data, yadda-yadda?"

"Could I forget?"

"Nope. Just say what you found, if it answers the hypothesis, and whether or not you were correct. High and low data. Comparisons/calculations."

Wally looked at Dick skeptically. "That it?"

"'It'? You don't even have the comparisons. Just trust me. Your second paragraph is a lot longer."

"But if I say everything in the first one, what am I supposed to put in the second one?"

Dick hung his head comically, making Wally snort in a very unenthusiastic chuckle. "You put the details. Go into why the other possible conclusion wasn't possible, how you got to the conclusion, etc. By the way, if you're planning on mentioning how certain macromolecules are present in certain foods, you might want to cite your sources for what macromolecules are in each food. Forensic reports do that for courts in murder cases, and I'm guessing Mr. Science-and-English-Major will appreciate it," Dick rambled, before pushing back against the table and rolling to his own screen again. "Also, try reading it out loud or something and put commas where you take a breath. Are you allergic to commas or are you German? I can't tell."

Wally stared at him. Oddly enough, though, the only question that the teenager could come up with was, "Why the hell do you know what forensics write for murder cases?" then, "Or what courts like?" and, "I'm part Scottish."

Dick almost froze. Almost. But he was too good at improv for that (still, the comfortable school setting was making him lose his edge, dang it). "I used to think about getting into forensics. Decided technology was more my thing." Ooo, opportunity. Get it, Grayson, get it! "If I'm going to get addicted to videogames, I might as well make a living out of it, after all."

Wally brightened, his attention immediately diverted from deleting his entire conclusion paragraph. "You like video games?" he asked.

That was where Dick had to be careful. Why? Because, honestly, Dick really didn't know all that many video games. It tended to happen when you were part of a secret agency.

"Yeah!" Dick replied cheerfully. Before Wally could ask to elaborate, though, Dick's eyes darted paranoidly over his computer screen and he motioned with his finger to be quiet. The librarian was staring straight at them, as their voices had started to raise from a whisper again. Wally sighed sadly but nonetheless nodded, returning back to his own screen. Dick followed suit.

After a second, the agent scrolled down his document to a clean page, increased the font dramatically, and typed. When he was finished, he tilted the screen back in Wally's direction.

**Do you come here a lot?**

Wally glanced over, blinked in surprise at the large message, and laughed. A bit too loudly, by the look on the librarian's face. Wally typed a message back on his own document.

**i have 2 every1 under C for new sem is required**

Dick frowned at Wally's computer.

**Speak English.**

A scoff. **I said I have to everyone under C grade for new semester is required**

**No wonder you suck at writing. You type like that.**

**Its just when Im talking to friends**

Dick rolled his eyes. **It makes a habit.**

Wally rolled his eyes back and decided not to respond. Dick quickly typed up another message. **We can come here just to work on our homework, though, right? Even if we're not failing?**

**yeah** Wally responded.** why would you want to though**

Dick forced an exasperated scowl to appear on his lips. **My mom is annoying. I'm super close to a B in math and she won't let me do anything until it's an A.**

**why? B is real good to**

**Like I said, she's annoying.**

Wall shrugged. sounds it He paused for a moment, seeming to think of an answer. **hey if ur coming here a lot do u think u can help me out a bit with english?**

**Chatspeak? Lame.**

Wally groaned, but nonetheless complied to Dick's unwritten demand. **Hey if your coming here a lot do you think you can help me out a bit with English?**

**As long as you help me out with math.**

Wally met Dick's eyes and grinned.

**Deal**

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><p><strong>AN: Is this a budding friendship I see? Gasp, it can't be!**

**But it is. **

**I just wanted to mention a few things: first of all, I've got a poll up on my profile that I would really appreciate some more votes on (the results of the poll controls what I'll be writing for a bit). Second of all: I just opened up betareading. I wanted to try it out. So, if you like my writing and need some help, feel free to read my beta profile and shoot me a PM.**

**By the way: if you guys got an update saying that I uploaded this chapter yesterday, ignore that. I did, but then I realized that I totally forgot Wally didn't know Dick's name. Whoooops. So I had to delete it and couldn't reupload in class because the school system classifies it as pornography. Lovely.**

**Thoughts? Comments? Reviews? Love you all, and see you next chapter!**


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